Another alternate ending for high lord
by SlimJimmy
Summary: I thought the trilogy was great, but the ending wasn't so good, so I decided to write my own version
1. Chapter 1

Hi Guys,

Like all of you, I love the black magician trilogy. This is my own alternate ending, as I too was disappointed by the swift killing of Akkarin and abrupt ending to a really fantastic trilogy. I decided to write it from another's perspective, as we don't ever see the world from behind Akkarin's eyes. I also think that the character has had a bit of a rough time, first being enslaved in Sachaka, watching his first love being sexually abused by his master, having his strength taken by the Ichani daily, and then killing every other slave and then his master and fleeing the country, only to be exiled back there with Sonea and having to save the world. So, a few things have been changed. I hope you like it...

* * *

"What now?" Asked Sonea, as Akkarin paced the room. He thought of their options, and smirked dryly; the answer was obvious.

"Follow me," he said, and strode from the room, Sonea having to jog to keep up with his long strides. He led her through the university, to the portrait behind which she had hidden from Regin and his gang, all those months ago, and opened the secret passage, gesturing for Sonea to enter. She stepped inside, and Akkarin followed, glancing around one last time to see if they were being pursued.

Sonea needed no direction in the navigation of the passageways. Akkarin was impressed, she'd obviously evaded him much more than he had thought. _Well, she always had an affinity for mischief,_ he thought, thinking back to the nights they had shared, of the times she had defied him, and the guild. He was pulled out of his musings when the door appeared at the end of the tunnel that led into the High Lord's residence.

"Sonea," he murmured. She turned to look at him, anxiety plain on her face. He searched for the right words, staring into her beautiful eyes and forgetting the phrases as they formed in his mind. Eventually he could only say,

"Stay safe. And promise me that if I get hurt, you'll run. Forget about Kariko and the Ichani." He smiled and ran his fingers down her cheek. "But don't forget me." She smiled wearily, and suddenly started to cry, tears soaking into the front of his robes. He hugged her tightly, her body racked with sobs. He pressed his lips firmly against hers, and felt the rush of passion between them strengthen his courage and resolve. He bathed in her touch and when they pulled away, he breathed,

"Let's go." He opened the door and crept up into the main area of the residence. They went out through the front door, and through the forest towards the arena. He raised his shield, and Sonea followed suit. Just in time. A powerful blast hit them from behind, and Kariko's cackle cut through the silence, and he and two other Ichani came striding round the university. Akkarin and Sonea attacked together, making their way to the arena. Kariko made to intercept, cutting them off. Akkarin kept forward, determination set into his features. Kariko also advanced, until the edge of their shields touched.

All five were thrown backwards off their feet, and the sand of the arena was churned up into a cloud of dust. Akkarin was separated from Sonea, and the sounds of strikes were everywhere. The dust blinding him, he staggered to his feet, and saw, a few metres away an Ichani, lying unconscious. He went over to him, and quickly took his strength. The man didn't move as Akkarin took everything, feeling the body slump against his own as the unfortunate man died.

As the dust cleared, he saw another Ichani collapse under Sonea's relentless strikes, his shield shattered and his body broken. Then, a flash of metal, a wet thud, and Sonea's gasp. Akkarin went cold with terror, and ran to her. All was quiet.

Laughter, cruel and humourless, cut through the silence. "So _that's _where I left my knife," Kariko crowed. "How good of you to find it for me."

Sonea stood swaying in the arena, disbelieving gaze set upon the knife in her side. Her face was a deathly pale, stark contrast to the line of blood that dribbled from the side of her mouth down to her chin. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the sand, her blood soaking into the parched ground.

_No! _Akkarin cried, overcome by grief. He fell to his knees beside his love's broken body and held her head to his chest, no longer caring if the Ichani cast him into oblivion. His shield wavered, the magic pulsing randomly around him, no longer directed into any sort of order. Sobs racked his body, and still Kariko laughed, mocking him and the guild, of Kyralia, of the king, and lastly, of Sonea.

Akkarin was suddenly overcome with a piercing rage, a rage at the unfairness of it all, a rage of hope, love, lies, revenge and death. He brought his gaze slowly from Sonea's unseeing eyes to Kariko's cold, menacing stare. Kariko stopped laughing. He had seen that look before, through his brother's eyes years ago. He backed off, suddenly wary.

Akkarin stood, and his robes flowed around him as he rose into the arena. Kariko quickly followed suit, rising out of the dust and drawing power from the arena. They faced each other, and Akkarin spoke,

"You are going to regret taking the lives of my guild, my friends, my family and my love," He thundered, his voice terrible with wrath. As he said this he attacked, sending strike after strike after strike at Kariko. The air was full of magic, strikes flowing in every direction, and in the middle of a golden shield hovered Akkarin, his eyes full of hatred and loathing. Kariko was just about holding him off, using the power from the arena.

Akkarin grimaced and increased the flow of magic between the arena and him. The power was nearly depleted, and he glowed with a blinding white light now in the centre. He felt the space in his head containing the magic expand into every corner of his body and beyond. He saw it, pure magic, as it hovered around his skin. It was so beautiful... Kariko realised what he had done, and, using the last of his strength in a desperate attack, he slumped to the ground, defeated.

Akkarin dropped out of the air, landing next to him. As Kariko looked up with pleading eyes, he was overcome by hatred and kicked him in the face, sending the Ichani sprawling in the sand. Kariko got onto his elbows, his nose broken and face streaming with blood. Akkarin lifted him off the floor, slamming him again and again into the arena pillars, breaking every bone in his body, and healing it again, and Kariko screamed again and again in agony. For every magician he had killed Akkarin broke him twice. At last the list was exhausted, and he held the bedraggled man in the air, and walked up to him. Eyes blazing, he whispered,

"For Sonea," and sent power coursing through the Ichani, and his final scream was cut off as magic ripped through his body apart and staining the arena floor red forever. The light in the arena died, and he ran to where Sonea was lying unmoving.

He gently pulled the knife from her side, tossing it away. He sent his mind inwards, and, using the magic he had gained, healed every cut, every slight imperfection, mending torn organs and tissue, reconnecting blood vessels, and encouraging the heart to beat again. He felt a slight presence stir inside her, but ignored it. Her loss of blood was considerable, but her heart was beating and she was breathing. He opened his eyes, and realised how weak he was. Unable to remain conscious, he collapsed next to her, and let oblivion take him.

* * *

When he awoke, lady Vinara was leaning over him, and he could feel her healing his many injuries. She stopped immediately as she realised he was awake, and opened her eyes. He saw fear, then a powerful barrier surrounded him and he saw the higher warriors standing nearby. Balkan stepped forward.

"Sonea. Where is she? Is she alright?" He pushed hard against the barrier, and the warriors turned pale, sure he would strike.

"She's fine. In fact better than fine. You poured almost all of the arena's magic into her when you healed her. She is completely and utterly healed of every tiny malady and injury. The tiniest imperfections have all gone. You, on the other hand, are considerably weaker. You didn't save yourself enough magic." Vinara frowned down at him disapprovingly. "You gave her far to much. You should know better."

"Ever the healer, eh, Vinara?" He smiled wearily. The last words he heard before he fell asleep were Balkan's. "I can see no traitor in him." He smiled, and slept.

When he woke, he found himself in a bed, soft and warm. He heard breathing and opened his eyes, and saw Sonea sleeping. He reached out to stroke her cheek. Vinara was right. She radiated health and beauty, and her skin was silky to the touch. She opened her eyes and smiled, and her eyes held a depth of that mystery that fascinated him. They came together, and held each other through the long hours of the night, neither needing to speak. That would come later. For now, there was only each other.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

She never thought that she would see it again. The walls of the northern pass loomed ahead of her, and she shivered as she passed into their shadow. The sun was at its highest, and she was sweating in the sweltering heat. It was utterly silent in the mountains, her laboured breathing echoing eerily around the cliffs. Her feet scraped along the stony ground, and she would often trip on loose scree. It was as she pulled herself up for the umpteenth time that she saw it.

The fort that had been the first piece of Kyralia to fall to Kariko lay before her. The gates were smashed and splintered. One hung limply from the great Stone gateway, the other lay to her right. Both were scorched and blackened, obviously having been subjected to vast amounts of power. She shivered as she remembered the day, that fateful day, when just hours after realising she was to have Akkarin's child, they were both flung into a deadly confrontation with the remaining Ichani.

Not wanting old memories to surface, she hurried past the ruined gateway, and into the fort. The story was the same everywhere she went. Many rooms had caved in, everything was burnt, and here and there bodies lay in the rubble. She skirted these as quickly as she could, picking her way through the devastation. She emerged into the main courtyard, looking around briefly at the crumbling walls. Climbing to the top, she looked out over the vast expansive desert that was Sachaka. She could see nothing that was inhabitable, nothing that lived. Just the wasteland her people, her guild, had created.

She found herself wondering at the immense power it would have taken. To completely destroy everything before her must have taken monumental strength. Then came the subject of black magic. Taking life from others to add to your own strength. She had not performed the ritual since the Ichani invasion, now three years ago. She was determined to never again feel the life of a victim drain away, the expression of utter surprise on their face turn to one of finality.

She shuddered, turned, and stared into a pair of bright blue eyes.

"Are you the Kyralian they call Sonea?" The voice was deep, and richly accented, and the woman wore strange clothes, the like of which she had never seen before. The woman wore a gold band around her head, and her features were sharp and yet weathered. She was in a strange way beautiful, and she had a cunning intelligence behind those eyes.

"Yes," she said, dropping her eyes under the Sachakan's keen gaze.

"Greetings, my lord," she said, smiling. "My name is Savara." Sonea started. Where had she heard that name before? She vaguely heard Savara's voice saying "I'll be escorting you through the wastes to our city. We leave immediately." She started walking at a swift pace, and Sonea gazed at her back before following. The Sachakan had two horses waiting nervously in the courtyard, and she accepted the reins of one thankfully. Climbing up onto the beast, she patted its neck and the two of them began to make their way carefully down the treacherous path, into Sachaka, for the second time in her life.

* * * *

Regin of Winar, now Lord Regin, stood overlooking the Excavation. It was tiresome work, here in the mountains, the magicians and labourers all around him scraping constantly at the stone. The crescent moon temple, as it had been affectionately called by artisans who actually wanted to be here, was being studied in research for the magic that Dannyl and Akkarin had witnessed.

So far, progress had been slow, but about once a week a rusty old tool that didn't look at all like a tool would be found, and spark a new enthusiasm in everyone accept Regin. He would stand there for hours, nothing to do but to watch the work and gaze at the mountains all around. Being a warrior, he knew he was only here so that when something bad happened, he could fight it. He just had no idea how to fight a chamber imbued with magic. A fine reward for helping kill the Ichani, he thought bitterly.

Sighing, he stepped down from his favourite rock – Favourite rock? When did _that _happen? – and made his way down to one of the pits, where workers were gathered round excitedly. A worn chest had been pulled out of the hole, and for the first time in weeks, Regin's interest grew. One of the men went to open it, but before Regin could cry out, the man touched the lock and got blasted off his feet. Magic in a _trap?_ That had certainly never been seen before. Regin was fully interested now, and ordered the chest taken to his pavilion. He would study it later, he decided, and headed off to inspect the other digs.

Someone had got all excited over a broken candle-stick, a piece of rotting wood had caught the eye of one of the archaeologists, but apart from that there had been no other progress. He sighed again and began the 2 mile walk back to his tent. Being the only magician on site, he was awed by most and feared by the rest. It was a lonely existence, and more and more he was missing Imardin. He'd been stuck in these damn mountains for what seemed like forever, and had made no friends. That was when he decided to give the chest a miss, and headed toward the pavilion with the bear.

Upon arriving, he noticed how busy it was. All the men had now abandoned the site for the day, and half of the hundred or so of them were crammed in here. They immediately stopped drinking and laughing, turning to look at the newcomer. Regin felt his ears reddening, and one of the higher ranking archaeologists hurried up to him, flustered.

"Is there something you require, my Lord?" He asked, fear etched into his features. Regin looked at him.

"Yeah. There is. The biggest flagon of ale you have," he shouted, grinning, and at once the men joined him. The Bartender hurried to his needs, and soon he was drinking and laughing with the labourers, being slapped on the back and slapping in return. The trouble only started when he became too drunk to control his magic...


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

Sonea looked around her, truly appreciating absolute poverty for the first time in her life. Children followed their horses, begging for food and water with eyes so hopeful and desperate that Sonea's heart melted. Savara had told her as they approached the village to not succumb to their pleas, and Sonea had wondered why. News of her sharing her supplies had spread throughout the village, and now it was hard to move for the crush of bodies. She gave as much as she could, but when fights broke out over them she stopped. They were getting so desperate that she considered raising a barrier between her and the crowds. When one went for her bag, she did, the children shying away from the shimmering surface. They realised that they wouldn't be getting anything else, and so wandered off in groups, leaving her to gaze like the intruder she was at their homes.

The village was built on a small hill, raising it by just a couple of feet from the rest of the swamp. The villagers themselves lived in huts, built from the trees and mud surrounding them. It was shelter, but It wasn't much more. She felt a sudden compassion for these people. If this was Kyralia, she told herself, the King would never have stood by whilst this was going on – would he? She thought back to the settlements she'd passed through to get to the border. They'd all been strong, well-built and sturdy, holding back the elements. If there was a storm here, the village would never stand a chance.

As they rode away, the last of the children falling behind, she had a thought. Wheeling her horse around, she trotted back into the village. Dimly, she heard Savara calling her back, but she ignored her. _If you won't help your people, I will,_ she decided, as she reached the first huts. The people milled around her once again, cautious of her, thinking she wanted her bread back. They kept their distance, watching her warily as she made her way towards the nearest hut. Placing her hand on the rough surface, she extended her consciousness around the building. Sending just enough magic into the structure to strengthen it sufficiently against any bad weather, she drew away, making her way through the entire village. She attracted quite a crowd, people marvelling at the sudden solidity of the buildings around them.

Soon, she had finished, and once again climbed onto her horse, finding Savara waiting for her patiently on the road. She smiled as Sonea approached, showing perfect teeth. Without a word, she galloped away, and Sonea's horse leapt after her, taking them away from the village and the cheering people.

Later in the day, she was exhausted from her efforts and yet contented. Savara noticed and made a campfire with magic, tying the horses to a nearby log. She made the fire between two large boulders, so the flames were hidden from view. It was too dark for anyone to see the small column of smoke; cloudy and dark and cold. They sat together around the fire, and for the first time in three days, Savara spoke to her, instead of at her.

"My lord, what did you do to the village today? It was obviously magic, but I've never seen it before."

"I was strengthening the buildings. They wouldn't last long in bad weather."

"I remember there being rumours of such magic, and I saw Kariko take it from the buildings in the invasion. Thank you, My lord."

"It was nothing, really, and don't call me that. My name is Sonea." Savara smiled.

"Sonea it is then."

"Why were you in Imardin? Are you a spy?" Sonea knew it sounded daft, but now that they were talking, she wanted to get to know Savara a little better.

She had a distant look, and for a long time didn't answer. When she did, Sonea barely heard the reply.

"Spying and other things..."

Sonea let out an involuntary gasp. So _that _was where she'd heard the name before. Cery! Savara was Cery's lover. She studied the woman in a different light now, finding herself wondering what it was about this woman that had attracted him so. That made her think of Akkarin.

_Akkarin. _The thought sent immense longing through her. It had been four months since she had started her journey, leaving him and their small child in the guild. They were perfectly safe, she knew, but she missed them greatly. _No. I won't think about this. Not another sleepless night._

"So what were you doing in Imardin?"

* * * *

The problem with a drunk magician is that he can't control his magic. The guild strongly banned the use of alcohol in the university, for obvious reasons. But Regin of Winar was far away from the university. As he laughed, red in the face and completely past it, little sparks of magic lit the room. The gathering had turned into a party, with him being the centre of attention. Every so often, he'd demonstrate his talents for the men, blasting various things. And when he missed, they all laughed all the harder.

In some early hour the next day, they all staggered out of the pavilion, and watched eagerly as Regin set loose a tent. They roared with laughter as he set it alight, and it went streaking off into the sky trailing smoke behind it. He repeated this until his magic ran out, and collapsed on the dusty ground. They carried him giggling back to his tent, where he vomited repeatedly and crawled into bed.

Regin had never had a hangover before. He sat up, feeling queasy, then fell back down again, groaning. Healing his sore head with the magic he had recovered, he went outside, the light piercing his eyes. The other men were obviously feeling it as well. They moaned and groaned and poured water over their heads. He stumbled through the rocks to his favourite, and took up position to watch. Some cruel part of him wanted to shout at them to get going, but as it was he just looked down on them with pity.

After he ate Regin went back to his tent to look at the chest. It was plain and wooden, and rotten in places. The wood was dark, almost black. He studied the lock without touching it, then probed it with his mind. He didn't think to raise the barriers around his consciousness, of course, but by the time he did, it was too late. The whatever-it-was in the chest was in him, searching his mind. Every memory and thought he eve had was at it's mercy. He began to scream when they began to disappear...


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

At first, the city appeared every so often in the heat haze, an apparition of unknown origin and distance. Sonea lulled in the saddle, her body protesting at the constant bumpy ride. Savara had no such pains. She rode upright and regal, searching the surrounding wastelands constantly for any sign of danger. So far, they had only met bandits here and there, highwaymen certain of their superiority over the magicians. Of course, a few tricks and they scampered, but there were worse things than bandits in these lands. Savara had explained that a rigid peace had existed between the Ichani, held together by Kariko's group. Them gone, several Ichani were looking to become leader, and that meant danger for any who stepped into the wastes.

One night, Savara had woken Sonea and silently gestured for her to join the Sachakan on a rock. Lying on her stomach, Sonea watched two tiny magicians battling fiercely. Flashes of light and booming sounds shook the rock beneath her, but eventually the victorious Ichani broke through his enemies shield, taking his life. Sonea felt sick as the dead man fell into the swamp, and turned away. Savara however seemed pleased by this turn of events, saying that the defeated Ichani had plans to destroy Sachaka's government and rule the country themselves.

Yes, the city was becoming clearer now. Gleaming spires and minarets rose out of a white stone metropolis. Sonea gawped in open appreciation, and Savara looked happy to have finally made it home. They continued at a steady pace towards the towering gates, meeting more and more travellers on the road. Eventually their horses were making their way through dusty streets and strangely clothed men and women, bearing stranger items of all shape and size.

An hour later they were the only two horses making their way up to the palace, which stood on a slight hill above the city. The sun was still high in the sky, and Sonea was sweating uncomfortably. She had donned her Black magician's robes in an attempt to look presentable, but they had become dirty and dusty in the desert this morning. Cursing, she tried to clear them with magic, but with little luck. Her efforts were halted, however, by the appearance of the main building of the palace. White marble towers stretched off seemingly into the clouds, previously obscuring each other. Long windows adorned with coloured glass depicting epic battles were positioned along the wall facing her. The gardens in front were immaculate, and there were even fountains, something she was sure affected the rest of the cities' water supply. Guards in cloaks and golden armour stood unmoving around the courtyard, spears in hand. She could sense that each of them could easy defeat not only her, but probably half the guild too. _Probably got all that strength from the people underneath this hill_, she thought.

Savara gave the horses to an attendant, and then led Sonea towards the set of huge doors. She was suddenly extremely nervous, and out of habit, called Akkarin

_Akkarin_ – His reply was immediate.

_Sonea. I've missed you._

_I'm here, at the palace. _She sent him an image of the impressive front wall of the palace. Sensing his awe, she said

_I'm about to request an audience with the monarch. Are you going to listen?_

_How could I resist? _She imagined him chuckle, then broke the connection, knowing he had donned his ring. Savara was looking at her quizzically.

"Shall we continue?" She asked, smiling slightly.

"Yes, certainly," Sonea replied. "I would love to see more of your wonderful palace.

* * * *

It felt good to be rid of that damn chest. He breathed, remembering his name was Doplin, and stretched young limbs. Stepping out into the light, he felt the sun kiss his skin for the first time in centuries, and it felt good. He felt nothing for the squealing, squirming little magician lying inside his conscious. He could suck it's energy whenever he wanted. That would shut it up. Even now it was begging for mercy and freedom, and it was grovelling with all it's will.

Opening the chest once more, Doplin took out one of his many orbs, and placed his hand on it. Instantly it glowed white hot, and he felt the magician's mind slide out of his own and into it. Placing the orb carefully down, he searched through his other belongings, looking for anything that might jog his memory. Eventually he came across a robe, his robe he remembered, and he took it out and laid it next to the orb. What he found next was what he had been searching for; his staff. Normal magicians didn't need staffs to channel their magic, and neither did he, but it had some use, he knew. The trouble was that he couldn't remember what that use was. Maybe there were more answers outside.

The heat was intense, but he remembered that he liked it like this. He headed to where there seemed to be most activity. Some sort of archaeological dig seemed to be happening, but he was drawn to the single significant find they were likely to discover besides himself in these ruins. How he knew this, he had no clue, but he headed straight for the doorway cut into the mountainside. On the way, however, he was approached by one of the men.

"Milord? The dig is progressing slowly. We haven't made much progress, sir, and we apologize." For a moment, Doplin had no idea what to say, but decided on a safe,

"I will forgive you today, but more progress is demanded of the rest of the week." We carried on in, and found himself in a long corridor, heedless of the protests of the worker. His sensitive eyes guided him through the passage, until he found himself in a large room. Immediately he felt enormous power here. The walls gleamed with magic, and occasionally it escaped to flicker across the room and into oblivion. Then, he was brought to his knees by a booming voice, a strange accent leaving his head throbbing.

_Who is this to disturb my slumber? _Doplin didn't know how to answer, so he merely said

_My name is Doplin. That is all I know_

_Then you shall know more..._

Immediately, a flush of memories broke into Doplin's mind, the sheer volume sending his mind writhing. He was setting off from a place called Arvice, him and lots of others. They trekked across a high place where the air was thin and the rocks plenty. Then they were attacking the enemy, and he sensed that they didn't belong there. As his shield fell he fled on a stolen 4 legged beast up into the mountains, there stumbling across a group of women, leading a solitary existence in a hidden valley. One fierce one had attacked him on sight, driving his weak form into the cliff itself. He ran through passage after passage, before coming to a dead end. He blasted his way through the fallen roof and soon found his way to the surface. He emerged once more into brilliant sunlight. Strange men in stranger clothing greeted him, showing suspicion and regret that he had found them. They had tricked him, telling him to lie on a piece of stone, and thrust a knife into his belly. The last memory was of them rising into a white light, then nothing.

_You were the sacrifice. The one who must be lost. Those men were monks, living a life high in the Elyne Mountains. They worshipped me, but they were not the first to do so. I outlive all men of this place. Some know me as the Oracle. My name is Narvelan._


End file.
